


To Pay the Reckoning

by TelWoman



Category: Eroica Yori Ai o Komete | From Eroica with Love
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Death, Crossover, Faustus - Freeform, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:14:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1844017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TelWoman/pseuds/TelWoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would tempt Klaus von dem Eberbach to sell his soul?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Act One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is based loosely on Christopher Marlowe’s play “The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus”. Some dialogue and situations are borrowed from Yasuko Aoike’s work: a re-imagining rather than a re-telling. No disrespect is intended to either writer. 
> 
> In Marlowe’s play, Faustus is a learned man who has reached the highest levels of accomplishment in every field of endeavour he has tried. Wishing to achieve even greater things, he seeks to become skilled in magic. Cornelius and Valdes are friends who tutor him in the magic arts. The Devil’s messenger, who closes the deal with Faustus to sell his soul to the Devil, and then becomes his servant (and watchdog) during the 24 years of his remaining life on earth, is the demon Mephistopheles. Wagner is Faustus’ servant, who acts as a commentator on the action throughout the play.
> 
> The full text of Marlowe’s play can be read at http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/779 There are plenty of summaries of the play on the web – a simple one can be found at http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/doctorfaustus/
> 
> The name of this story is an allusion to Marlowe's death - the official version of events being that he died in a brawl over who should pay 'the reckoning', the bill for food and drink, at a public house where he'd met with a small group of men.

**Scene One**

 

“Congratulations, Major von dem Eberbach!”

Three glasses clinked together.

Klaus von dem Eberbach, imposing as always in his crisp uniform, drank a toast to his own good fortune. At the age of twenty-six, he’d been appointed Head of the NATO Intelligence unit stationed in Bonn. It was a big step in his career. He felt proud. Surely, he thought, even his father should feel proud. 

He’d emerged from a meeting with his new superiors to find his old friends and mentors Cornelius and Valdes waiting for him, and they’d swept him away to celebrate.

Valdes topped up their champagne glasses. “So, young Klaus: your promotion is quite an achievement. Youngest ever to be promoted to Head of Intelligence. Highly recommended by your superiors in the Armoured Division. You’re on your way to greatness!”

Klaus allowed himself a satisfied grin. He’d worked hard for his promotion. Skill and intellect, plus hard work and sheer determination, had paid off. That, and being noticed by people with influence. 

Cornelius and Valdes had recognised his aptitude for intelligence work early in his career. Experienced agents with fearsome reputations, their opinions had carried some weight. Their recommendations had led to Klaus’s first secondment to an intelligence operation. Klaus had distinguished himself on that first mission, and after that, Valdes and Cornelius took an interest in his career, giving him advice and passing on knowledge that most men took years to learn. 

Valdes placed a fatherly hand on Klaus’s shoulder. “You could become one of the greatest agents of all time, Klaus. You’ve got what it takes. Just don’t let yourself be held back – you know what I mean.”

“He’s right,” Cornelius said. “In this trade, you can let the ends justify the means. Don’t be afraid to bend the rules if it means getting what you need. Sometimes, it’s the only way. We’ve never been afraid to do whatever it takes, have we, Valdes?”

“No, we haven’t. We’ve always kept the bigger picture in mind. If breaking the rules gets you the result you need, then break ‘em. Don’t let the KGB get the upper hand because you’re tangled up in red tape. The KGB doesn’t let our rules get in its way.”

“Seriously, Klaus,” said Cornelius, “the most effective agents have always been the ones who put the mission first.”

“I always put the mission first, you know that!”

“Yes, you do, Klaus. You’ve gained a reputation for it. People say you’re ruthless, driven; and that’s not a bad reputation to have.” Cornelius lowered his voice. “Ruthlessness is a strength, Klaus. Use it. Be prepared to play dirty. Valdes and I learned that the hard way.”

Valdes leaned in as well, speaking in quiet, urgent tones. “If I can give you one piece of advice, Klaus, it’s this: find the people who have the skills you need, and keep them on your side. Whoever they are. Wherever they come from. Do whatever you need to do to ensure their loyalty. Don’t be squeamish about where you get your allies from. If they can help you defeat the enemy, then they’re worth having on your side. Whatever it takes, Klaus. Whatever it takes.”

Klaus looked from Valdes to Cornelius and back again. “I’d deal with the Devil himself if it meant getting the upper hand over the KGB. You know that, Valdes.”

Valdes nodded. “You’ve got what it takes, Klaus. And we’ll be here if you need us.”

Cornelius picked up the champagne bottle again. “Here, let me fill your glass up!”

“No, thanks,” Klaus said. “I won’t have any more. I have to report to my new office at fifteen hundred hours. Meet my agents.”

Cornelius filled up his own glass instead. “What do you know about them? Your agents?”

“Not much. Their last commanding officer let them go soft, according to the Chief.”

“Then get them licked into shape, and keep them that way. They’ll thank you for it in the end.” Cornelius emptied his glass in a long swallow. “Getting a reputation for being tough is a good thing. Being feared can bring advantages. Go in hard, with high expectations. And remember: whatever it takes. Don’t let the KGB get in front – beat them at their own game. Bend the rules if you have to. Find your allies wherever you can.”

Klaus stood up, handing his empty glass to Valdes. “I have to go.” He shook hands with them both. “Stay in touch.”

 

**Scene Two**

 

At NATO Headquarters, news travels by two roads: the official and the unofficial. Often, the unofficial channels move faster than the official ones, and the news that comes that way can carry a whiff of sensation and scandal. The NATO Intelligence unit had heard through official channels that their new commanding officer was to arrive that afternoon. While they waited, the agents pooled the information they’d gleaned from unofficial sources.

“Isn’t he supposed to be the youngest ever to be given command of the Intelligence unit?”

“Yes, he is. He’s moved up the ranks fast, because he gets things done.”

“He’s got one hell of a reputation as a hard disciplinarian.”

“Yeah, he’s supposed to be quite a piece of work. Completely ruthless, drives himself and his men to the limits. Can’t stand failure.”

“And he doesn’t suffer fools gladly. They say he tears strips off his men for the slightest mistake.” 

“So what? Any commanding officer worth his salt would have something to say about it if we stuff up!”

“He’ll have something to say about it, all right. He’s got quite a vocabulary, or so I hear. Swears fluently in at least four languages!”

“At least he’s not corrupt, is he? I mean, has anybody heard he’s unethical?”

“Everything I’ve heard is the exact opposite – he’s a stickler for the rules and won’t tolerate any questionable conduct.”

“I’ve heard that the von dem Eberbachs have always been a military family. So I suppose the Major’ll have all that ingrained sense of honour and duty. Seems to be how it is in families with a long military tradition.”

“Then what about Cornelius and Valdes?”

“Those two old hacks from the Federal Intelligence Service? What about them?”

“I’ve heard that Major von dem Eberbach is pretty friendly with Cornelius and Valdes – in fact, I’ve heard that they’ve taken him on as a kind of protégé.”

“Teaching him all the dirty tricks, you mean.”

“Yeah, those two’ve been in the game for nearly forty years and they’ve pulled every dirty trick in the book, if you can believe half of what people say. Maybe our new commanding officer isn’t so high-principled after all.”

The sound of loud footsteps in the corridor sent the agents scurrying back to their desks moments before their new commanding officer stepped through the door. Klaus swept an appraising glance around the room. His twenty-six agents sat frozen, all eyes on him.

“Which of you is Captain Wagner?”

A blonde-haired man of middle height stumbled to his feet, and saluted. “I’m Wagner, sir. Agent A, sir.”

Klaus nodded once. “My office, Wagner. Now.”

The door closed behind them. Klaus sat down behind his desk, then gestured to Wagner to take a seat. “You’re the senior agent?”

“Yes, sir. Agent A, sir.”

“How long have you been with the unit?”

“Four months.”

Klaus nodded again. _An inexperienced second in command._

“I didn’t know there was a woman in the unit,” he remarked.

“There’s not, sir. Er – Agent G prefers women’s clothing. Sir.”

_Agents with unusual tastes and habits._

“And that fellow with the stash of chocolate bars on his desk. He’s at least fifteen kilos overweight. How’s his fitness?”

“He’s passed all his fitness tests, sir.”

“Humph.” Klaus opened a file that had been placed on the desk, and ran his eyes down the list of personnel. “This man – Zimmerman—”

“Agent Z, sir.”

“He’s only been with us five weeks?”

“Yes, sir. He has potential, sir. He’s intelligent.” Wagner noted that the Major had said ‘us’. 

Klaus closed the file and looked squarely at his second in command. “The Chief told me this unit has gone soft. That won’t do, Wagner. This unit’s going to shape up, and I expect your support in getting that to happen. That will be all, Wagner.”

As he left the inner office, Agent A had a strong feeling that life under Major von dem Eberbach was going to be interesting.

 

**Scene Three**

 

So Klaus von dem Eberbach took up his command. He made his mark quickly. It didn’t take his agents long to develop a healthy respect for him that bordered on fear. Klaus didn’t hide his contempt for foolishness and wasn’t afraid to vent his temper when things went wrong in the office – but in the field, he never asked any man to do what he wasn’t prepared to do himself, and that earned him the respect of every man under his command.

Within a short time, the Alphabet unit forged an enviable reputation: a crack squad led by an intrepid commander, a team who could take on the near-impossible and succeed. In enemy ranks, the name ‘Iron Klaus’ was spoken with fear and respect. Even Klaus’s immediate superior developed a grudging regard for him. 

Cornelius and Valdes remained on the scene, appearing from time to time to congratulate Klaus on yet another victory, or to pass on some advice they thought timely. He welcomed his old mentors’ concern, but it was his own ambition that drove him. His own ruthless aspirations had long since outstripped anything Cornelius and Valdes could urge him to. 

Then, less than eighteen months after taking command, Klaus made the acquaintance of someone who, at first, seemed little more than a nuisance.

 

Perhaps he had not been in the best frame of mind when he drove up to the front door of Schloss Eberbach. He needed to tie up some family business before heading off on a mission, and he was in a hurry. 

There was a flashy red sports car parked in the driveway.

He strode up the front steps.

“Whose car is that?” 

The butler looked sheepish.

“An Englishman. He asked to see the family art collection.”

“Fucking hell! Ever since that article in the weekend paper—! I told my father it was a mistake, giving the public access to the Schloss. And why did you let him in, anyway? Public access is on Sundays, when it can be controlled properly! Not come-as-you-please!”

Klaus’s boot-heels clacked loudly on the tiles as he strode down the hallway toward the family gallery, the butler hurrying behind him making placatory noises.

“But he’s a collector, Master Klaus; he’s an authority on European art before the 1800s—”

“I don’t give a shit, Herr Hinkel. You’re not to let people in under uncontrolled conditions.”

Klaus rounded the corner into the gallery.

The Englishman turned, smiling. The cloud of blond curls and wide blue eyes, the tight trousers and sleeveless red shirt made him look more like a rock musician than an art expert. 

It wasn’t a happy meeting.

Klaus’s relief when the Englishman left was short-lived. He’d expected never to see him again, but the man became embroiled in his next mission. 

And the next. 

As the years went by, time after time, their paths crossed. Klaus soon learned that the art collector with the rock-star good looks was the thief known as Eroica. Hiding behind his legitimate identity as the Earl of Gloria, armed with his own natural arrogance, the man managed to worm his way into any place he chose. Through Greece, England, Iran and Syria, Eroica appeared in the midst of missions. Daring to the point of recklessness, he faced down smugglers and extortionists, spies and soldiers with equal courage. Reluctantly, Klaus had to admit that Eroica was a talented thief, and he developed an unwilling admiration for the man’s cool audacity. 

Valdes had always said it was essential to have skilled people as allies. “Whoever they are. Wherever they come from. If they can help you defeat the enemy, then they’re worth having on your side.” Eroica was, potentially, such a person. It seemed likely that the thief would be willing to throw his lot in with Klaus, given the right encouragement. He’d need to be kept under control, though – the man was a loose cannon. How to get him in hand was probably going to be a bigger challenge than recruiting him.

 

**Scene Four**

 

Klaus arrived back from his mission in Iran satisfied with the result. He’d recovered the microfilm he’d been sent to find, and he’d evaded the KGB after a chance encounter in the desert. He’d also crossed paths with Eroica, and once again the thief had been of use to him – although their interactions hadn’t been entirely harmonious. 

Eroica plainly didn’t see himself as answering to anyone else, but Klaus felt he was getting the measure of the man. To recruit him, he’d need to offer a task that posed enough challenge to pique his curiosity. To get him under control, he’d need to engineer things so the task served both their interests. 

He’d no sooner finalised his mission report and sent it up to the Chief than Cornelius and Valdes appeared, insisting that he must come out and celebrate his latest victory. 

They began with dinner, then moved on to a bar – to a series of bars, starting at the top of a street and working their way down. By eleven o’clock, Klaus was drunk. Stumbling, slurring drunk. Valdes and Cornelius were not much better themselves, but none the less, they kept Klaus drinking till the bars closed.

In a drunken blur, Klaus vaguely registered being bundled into a cab, being let into his own apartment, being dumped sprawling onto his own bed. More asleep than awake, he was dimly aware of his front door being pulled shut, two sets of unsteady footsteps fading down into the street, a cab driving off.

He slept.

He dreamed.

The dream was so vivid that when he woke, he felt disoriented, as if he’d left reality behind rather than surfacing back into it.

_“Don’t be afraid to bend the rules, if the need arises, young Klaus. The KGB doesn’t let our rules get in its way.”_

_“Don’t be squeamish about where you get your allies from. If they can help you defeat the enemy, then they’re worth having on your side.”_

_“I’d deal with the Devil himself if it meant getting the upper hand over the KGB. You know that, Valdes.”_

_Then Cornelius and Valdes faded away. Instead, Eroica was leaning over him._

_“Say his name and you’ll see his horns,” the thief purred. “Or maybe not his horns but his helper. Do you really want to deal with the Devil, Major?”_

_Klaus’s skin tingled where gentle fingertips brushed softly across his cheek. Pleasure surged through his veins. He felt confused. The thief shouldn’t have this effect on him. He hardly cared for women; men were of no interest to him at all – and yet, when Eroica laid an elegant hand on his thigh and leaned in closer to gaze into his eyes, he didn’t feel inclined to pull away._

_“Is that what you want, Klaus? To deal with the Devil? To have his aid?” The thief’s voice was hypnotic. “What would you give to be the best? To be invincible? To be feared and admired, and never fail? H’mm?”_

_Eroica was so close, Klaus could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. He could smell the faint scent of roses._

_“Tell me, Klaus. What would you give?”_

_He squared his shoulders. “I’d sell my soul if I could have those things.”_

_The thief laughed softly. “Then you can have what you desire. You can be powerful, indestructible. None will defeat you. You can be the greatest agent NATO’s ever had, and I’ll be there to serve you, Klaus – to do the things you need me to do for you. It’s all yours, Klaus – and the price is your soul.”_

_“How? How do I—?” Klaus’s tongue felt thick and clumsy. His hands were made of lead._

_“Just believe, Klaus. If you believe, you belong to him already. Twenty-four years, Klaus. He’ll come for his payment in twenty-four years.”_

_Did he feel the thief’s lips pressed against his own? He couldn’t tell. His sight was clouding; sounds were fading and blurring in his ears. Then, there was nothing._

Then there was nothing, and then he woke up. 

His head pounded. His mouth was dry. His shoulder felt scraped raw – had he fallen over last night while he was drunk?

Carefully, he climbed up off the bed and stumbled to the bathroom. The face that stared back at him from the mirror looked awful: pale, sallow, with purple shadows under the eyes. 

Gingerly, he unbuttoned his shirt and twisted around to look at the sore patch behind his shoulder. His heart sank. 

A tattoo. 

For Christ’s sake, he’d got a tattoo. He’d got drunk, and he’d got a bloody tattoo! 

He stared, horrified. Curling scrollwork, and the words _‘Homo Fuge’_. ‘Fly, man.’ He remembered enough Latin to know what it meant – but why he would have chosen those words to be inscribed on his skin, he had no idea.

Fucking insanity. He didn’t need any distinguishing marks, in his profession! What had possessed him?

What had possessed him, indeed.

He’d had a dream…

The thief, with his warm laughter and hot, hungry eyes. His offers of—

_No. Bullshit. I was drunk. I was dreaming. That’s all._

But in the back of his mind, he could still hear the thief’s voice, soft and seductive, saying, “It’s all yours, Klaus – and the price is your soul. Twenty-four years, Klaus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 'The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus', the words 'Homo Fuge' appear spontaneously on Faustus' skin when he attempts to sign his agreement with the Devil in blood.


	2. Act Two

**Scene One**

 

By chance, the next mission Klaus was assigned to seemed tailor-made to catch the thief’s interest. Once they had a successful collaboration under their belts, Klaus reasoned, the thief should be easier to control. The challenge lay in enticing him to become involved on Klaus’s terms.

_He treats everything as a game: we shall play a game together._

Klaus sealed an envelope containing two tickets for the train from Amsterdam to Paris, and dropped it into a mailbox. 

 

Klaus stood looking down at the two men seated in the luxury dining car. The thief had taken the bait: he was curious. Now, to seal the agreement. 

Eroica looked up at Klaus through his eyelashes. “Ah. Major. I wondered if it was you. I wasn’t sure because it was the Île de France. If it were a German train, I would have known.”

“I should have made it a German train, then. I was stooping to your shallow tastes.” Klaus crushed out his cigarette in the clean ashtray and sat down. “Get me some German beer,” he snapped at a hovering waiter.

James, trembling, nudged Eroica. “My lord? Don’t let him trick you into anything. This could be a trap. Don’t trust him.”

“James, please.”

Klaus flicked a contemptuous look at James, quivering in the corner in his threadbare brown suit. “I’d hoped you might bring someone more useful than Tightwad, here.”

“Remember what he did to you last time, my lord!” James squeaked. “Don’t trust him!”

Exasperated, Eroica said, “James, you’re not helping. Why don’t you go back to your compartment? Count your spare change, or something.”

“But my lord—”

“James! Go. Now.”

The accountant slunk away, glad to be gone from the Major’s presence, but anxious about what his employer might agree to without him there to give advice.

Eroica turned back to the Major. He smiled. “There now, Major. No third parties listening in.” He picked up his wine glass. “Palmyra was the last place we met, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. An odd thing happened – the KGB showed up where I was.”

Eroica cocked an eyebrow. “Really, Major? What would bring them out there, scanning the sandy wastes just on the off-chance of finding someone of interest? By coincidence, Interpol turned up where I was. Strange things can happen in the desert.” He raised his glass. “Shall we drink to our reunion?”

Klaus regarded Eroica with the emotionless gaze he used to unsettle prisoners during interrogation. 

The thief sighed. Really, the Major needed to develop a playful side. “So, Major, what do you want, since you’re being so businesslike? Or do I dare to hope you just wanted to be alone with me?” The thief leaned closer, fluttering his luxuriant eyelashes. “Come on, Major, I’m dying of curiosity. Why have you brought me here?” 

“Damn it, stop trying to flirt with me! Can’t you be serious for once?” 

“But Major, _you’re_ always flirting with _me_.”

“What are you talking about, you fool? I don’t flirt.”

“Oh, but you do!” Eroica purred. He licked his lips, delicate and cat-like. “At Palmyra, for instance. You were going to leave me stranded out there. You called Interpol – told them to come and get me. You only did that because you _knew_ I’d be able to get out of it. It’s a different kind of flirting, I grant you, but you _are_ flirting with me, Major. You give me these little challenges, just to tell me in your own way how much you admire my ability to get out of tight situations.” He smiled serenely. “It’s the way you flirt with me, Major.”

Klaus snorted in disgust. “You’re insane. I do _not_ flirt with you. And you don’t need me to put you into tight corners; you’re quite capable of getting into trouble by yourself.” 

Eroica laughed joyously. “Oh, Major. You’re quite magnificent when you’re unsettled!”

“Are you going to listen to what I’ve got to say to you, or not?”

The thief’s expression sobered. “Yes, all right. I’m listening.”

Klaus took out a cigarette and lit it. With a measuring gaze, he regarded the thief through a thin veil of smoke.

“NATO wants to hire you to do a job for us. We need you to steal something from a secure location. We’ll pay generously. You’ll have NATO immunity during the operation.”

“Major!” Enraptured, Eroica clasped his hands over his heart. “You’re moving up from flirtation to foreplay!”

“For fuck’s sake!” Klaus exploded. “Does everything have to be sexual with you, you pervert?”

Heads turned at the other tables in the dining car, some faces amused and some disapproving. Klaus lowered his voice. “Can you leave aside the innuendos for five minutes? Look, we need you to do this. _I_ need you to do this.” He lifted a document out of his pocket and unfolded it. “Do you know what this is?”

Frowning, Eroica ran his eyes across the paper. “It’s a safe… Good lord! It’s the vault in the Vatican Palace. This information is nearly impossible to come by! Where did you get this?”

Klaus folded the blueprint up and put it back in his pocket. “We have our ways and means. NATO has been able to get the information, but we need you to open the safe.”

“Why?” Eroica’s eyes narrowed. “What’s in there?”

“Plans pertaining to a globally important defence system. They were stolen by an engineer working on the project, and given to the Vatican in a misguided attempt to bring the project to a halt. If they aren’t recovered, the free world will be exposed to unprecedented danger of attack.”

“And you want me to crack the safe for you.” 

“It has to be a clean job. There’s no margin for error; we can’t afford a fuck-up. It’s politically sensitive. Even a hedonistic wanker like you must appreciate that. We’re hiring you because you’re good enough to do it.” 

“Good enough? Major, I’m the best.” Eroica smiled enigmatically. “I _might_ choose to do this for you … on one condition. After I’ve cracked the safe, I want you to give me ten minutes’ grace while I’m in the vault. Alone. No interruptions, no observation. Do you agree?”

Klaus glared, annoyed that the thief would impose conditions of his own. Still, he remembered the advice Valdes had given him: do whatever is necessary to keep your allies on side. He didn’t care what else Eroica wanted to do in the Vatican vault, and ten minutes wasn’t long.

“Yes, all right then. You’ll have your ten minutes.”

Eroica pouted seductively, gazing up at Klaus through lowered lashes. “Then it’s a deal, Major.”

 

**Scene Two**

 

The job on the Vatican vault went like clockwork. Klaus pocketed the microfilm Eroica recovered with satisfaction, and waited for the thief to return after his ‘ten minutes’ grace’. He felt completely disinterested in what the thief wanted to do. If the man stole some useless ornament or artwork, Klaus didn’t care. Such things had no practical value, whoever they belonged to. He was startled, though, to see the size of the bundle Eroica returned with. It looked like a very large roll of tapestry; or maybe there was something wrapped up inside it – a statue, perhaps? Whatever it was, Klaus wasn’t even curious. The thief had kept his side of the bargain, and Klaus would keep his.

Rome’s streets seemed to be in uproar as they travelled back to the hotel where the Alphabets and Eroica’s team were waiting: sirens blaring, police cars speeding by, groups of priests and nuns rushing about in St Peter’s Square. Klaus paid no heed. He’d got the thief to aid him, he’d achieved his mission, and he was ready to go home to Germany.

“Aren’t you curious at all about my prize, Major?” Eroica asked, back at the hotel. “It’s got to be the best theft of the century!” Carefully, the thief unwound his bundle, under the horrified gaze of Alphabets and thieves alike, to reveal— 

“You stole the POPE?” Klaus felt his spine go cold. So this was what all the commotion in the streets was about! So this was what Eroica had been doing with his ten minutes’ grace!

Seizing the thief by the shoulder, Klaus dragged him through into the adjoining room. “You fucking idiot! You’ve endangered the mission! Every police unit in Rome is out on the streets! The entire Catholic Church will be up in arms!” He shoved the thief away, and began pacing up and down. “Fuck it, Eroica, this is outrageous! If this ridiculous prank leads to NATO being implicated in the break-in, the political fall-out will be immense! You wanker! Why did you do this?”

Eroica regarded Klaus with a sly, defiant smirk that made him look positively demonic. “Because there is nobody else in the world who _could_ do this – who would even attempt it, let alone bring it off. I’m the best there is, Major. If I want something – I take it. And I’m not your dog, to be brought to heel. If I do anything, it’s because I want to. Don’t bother ordering me about, Major. Your orders don’t work on me.”

Klaus stared, open mouthed, unable to speak. Eroica had done this to make a point! It was all about proving who had the upper hand. The theft of the Head of the Catholic Church was nothing more than a gesture to show Klaus that he wasn’t going to be controlled. The man was impossible! 

No, not impossible. He’d done what he’d agreed to do. He’d broken into the most inaccessible vault in Europe and recovered the information Klaus needed. The security of the free world could be assured. Klaus’s mission was accomplished. 

Without a further word, Eroica strode out into the next room, and signalled to two of his men. “Bonham, Jonesy – help me out with His Holiness, will you? We’ve got an hour and thirty-five minutes till he starts to wake up. We have to get him to his recovery location.” 

They rewrapped the heavy bundle and carried it out, the Alphabets gaping after them in consternation. 

 

**Scene Three**

 

On a chartered plane now safely outside Italian airspace, Klaus sat in a corner, brooding. How the hell was he supposed to write up the report for this mission? By the end, everything had dissolved into chaos. Thanks to Eroica’s kidnapping of the Pope, Klaus found himself embroiled in hastily convened negotiations. The Vatican extended an invitation to the major intelligence organisations to ‘share their views’ about the Church’s role in international peacekeeping and politics. Then, the Italian police arrested Eroica, only to release him when a Mafia boss brought his influence to bear – followed by a car chase through the streets and an open exchange of gunfire. Klaus had barely managed to keep the situation together, extract Eroica, and get his own men out of there.

“Are you all right, Major?”

Klaus looked up, irritated. That bloody thief was standing by his seat, looking cool and composed as if nothing untoward had happened. 

“May I join you, Major?”

“No,” Klaus snapped. “Fuck off.”

Eroica sat down beside him. “Come now, Major. Your mission was a success. Why the long face?”

“The mission nearly went to hell – thanks to you, you wanker. It should have been simple and straightforward. It _would_ have been simple and straightforward if you hadn’t pulled that ludicrous trick with the Pope. Instead, we ended up being shot at by the Italian police, _and_ the KGB, and to top it all, the Mafia got involved. Christ alone knows what _they_ know about the mission.” He glowered at Eroica, disgusted. “What’s your involvement with the Mafia, anyway? I suppose that toad Volvolante is one of your boyfriends.”

“Major, please.” Eroica shuddered delicately. “Don Gian-Maria is a darling, but I could never even contemplate it.”

Klaus glanced around the plane. His own men were chatting away as if it was just another day in the office. Eroica’s stingy accountant was curled up on his seat, dozing. 

“Look at them all,” he muttered to no-one in particular. “Am I the only one who gives a shit about the mess we just left behind?”

“Major, you got what you went to get. You achieved your mission – with my help, of course. As for all that excitement at the end – each and every one of the parties is busy covering up their involvement right now, because you got what you wanted, and they didn’t. The KGB isn’t going to admit Iron Klaus won again. The Italian police aren’t going to let the public know they’re doing deals with the Mafia. As for the Vatican – they want the world to believe they’re above politics; they’re not going to want any of this to get out.” The thief shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re worrying about.”

“Humph.” Klaus glared at him, aware that he was looking petulant. “And you didn’t follow orders.”

“I beg to differ, Major. I did exactly what you hired me to do. Then, you gave me ten minutes’ grace to go about my own business, and I was back in the agreed time frame.”

“I didn’t expect you to use the time doing something so indescribably stupid!”

“Well then, Major, you’d better practise being more precise. Or possibly, just let go of the idea that you have to control everything.” Eroica stood up. “But you know, Major, I’d never do anything to endanger you – I love you.” He rubbed his jaw ruefully. “I know you don’t like me saying so in front of witnesses – you almost broke my jaw for saying so in Rome – but it’s the truth. There are some things I’d never lie about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With Mephistopheles' help, Faustus visits the Vatican, where he mocks the Pope.


	3. Act Three

As his plane landed in Alaska, Klaus reflected that this was one mission he didn’t want Eroica to know about. 

Where the mission served both their interests, Eroica could be of use to Klaus. This time, the problem at hand would be more likely to set them up as rivals. Klaus and his men were in Alaska to recover an art collection that had belonged to Field Marshall Hermann Göring. It had gone missing during the last days of World War II while being transported to a hiding place outside Germany, along a counterfeiting plate intended to form part of an operation to destabilise the US economy. If Eroica got wind of the art collection, he would want it for himself; and if his tight-fisted accountant got his hands on the counterfeiting plate there would be no containing the damage.

No, Klaus thought, it would be better if this time, Eroica did not appear on the scene. His hopes were in vain. Eroica knew about the art collection and the counterfeiting plate, and as he’d feared, Klaus had to deal with the thief working actively against him. That is, until the two of them found they were facing a mutual enemy: the KGB also wanted to get their hands on the spoils. 

The Russians very nearly succeeded, but with the aid of a stolen helicopter, Eroica managed to lift the art collection, the counterfeiting plate, and the Major, out from under their noses. It was unfortunate that the snowfield he tried to land on turned out to be a lake, leaving Eroica and the Major stranded in a derelict cabin on the shore, and the art collection and the counterfeiting plate under the water.

 

Klaus squatted in front of the fireplace, trying to encourage more warmth out of the meagre flames. 

Eroica came up behind him. “Come on, Major, your clothes are wet and you have a wound that needs binding up. Let me help you. Take off your shirt.” Eroica seized the back of Klaus’s shirt in both hands and tugged hard, taking Klaus by surprise. The shirt slid down, revealing bare shoulders, muscular arms, and—

“Major! You’ve got a tattoo! I never would have guessed!”

“Never mind that!” Klaus hauled his torn, damp shirt back into place and turned to glare at Eroica. 

“Somehow, I hadn’t picked you for the type to have a tattoo.”

“I’m not,” Klaus snarled unhappily. “I was drunk at the time.” He buttoned his shirt up and hitched himself closer to the fire. “I went out with some friends; I got drunk. So drunk I didn’t remember anything the next morning. And, the next morning, I had this tattoo. I can’t remember a thing about it. Never would have chosen to do it in my right mind. Now, I’m stuck with it.”

Eroica’s eyes widened in surprise: it was hard to imagine the Major in a situation where he was not in control. “Is that why you’re so paranoid about taking your shirt off?”

Klaus glared at him.

“You can get it removed, you know, Major. There are some revolutionary new techniques involving laser technology.”

“On my salary?”

Eroica rolled his eyes. “Don’t cry poor, Major; you’ve got plenty of money. Remember, I’ve seen where you live. But if you like – I’ll pay for it.”

“Not on your life,” Klaus growled. “I don’t want to be beholden to you for anything, thief.”

Eroica stood up. “You’re an exasperating man, Major. Keep your wet shirt on, then, if you must. I’ll go and see if there’s anything useful in the other room.”

Klaus watched over his shoulder as Eroica disappeared into the gloom of the adjoining room. He heard some shuffling, and then a triumphant crow. Eroica reappeared in the doorway holding up a bottle of whisky. 

“Look what I’ve found! This should keep the chills away!” Grinning, the thief padded across to the fire and sat down beside Klaus on the floor. 

Klaus seized the bottle and pulled out the cork. He sniffed its contents suspiciously. The sharp whiff of whisky burned in his nostrils. There was no hint of any contamination. He passed the bottle back to the thief. 

“Here – you first.”

The thief raised the bottle to his lips and took a swallow. He grimaced. “Ugh. Cheap whisky. It has a bite like a bulldog.” He took another mouthful and passed the bottle to Klaus. “Still, it should help to keep the frost at bay.”

They passed the bottle back and forth, sitting close together in the weak warmth coming from the fire. Relaxed by the whisky, Klaus tore a sleeve from his shirt and used it to bind up the wound on his arm. Eroica, sipping, watched detachedly. 

_Really,_ Klaus thought, _the flirting is only an act. When it counts, he behaves himself. Perhaps he’s not entirely ungovernable after all. Perhaps—_

Klaus accepted the bottle from Eroica, took a mouthful, and passed it back. “Listen, if we get out of here—”

“If? Of course we’ll get out of here!”

“All right, _when_ we get out of here – come and work for me. Officially. Sign up as an adjunct operative. Under my command.”

“To do what? Steal things on demand? Documents and blueprints, military secrets? Blackmail material?” Eroica shook his head. “No thank you.”

“If you can steal useless things like paintings, surely you can steal things that will make a difference to international security!”

“Look, Major – we’ve been through this. I’ve dedicated my life to the pursuit of Beauty. I steal art. My thefts are works of art in themselves. I’m serving Art as I steal it.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’ve never heard such bullshit in my life. You’re a bloody thief, that’s all, and I’m offering you a chance to change that – to be better than that. A chance to do something worthwhile.” 

A frosty look from Eroica pulled Klaus up. The conversation was going badly. Berating the thief would do no good – he needed to entice him into cooperating. 

Klaus tried again. “Eroica – Dorian – look. You have talents that my men don’t. And we’re bound by regulations – there are some things we just can’t do. All right, forget signing up with NATO. If you’d agree to work for me, it could be a private arrangement between us. Then you wouldn’t be hindered in any way; NATO would have no hold over you. It could just be an arrangement between you and me. I’d make sure you get paid for what you do.”

Eroica smirked. “So, Iron Klaus would willingly go behind NATO’s back and strike a bargain with a thief, so he can gain the advantage and boost his reputation? Is that it?”

“Reputation has nothing to do with it. I’ll do whatever needs to be done to defeat the low-life filth I have to deal with.”

“And there’s not just a tiny hint of self-glorification in there, h’mm?”

“I don’t care about such frivolities.”

“And I don’t care about money, Major. Whatever I’ve done for you in the past, I’ve done it for love. Love, and the thrill of the chase. Don’t offer me money; it just doesn’t interest me.”

“Then if you don’t want money, what do you want?”

“You.”

“Go to hell,” Klaus grumbled.

“Too late, Major. I’m already there.”

“What? You live in luxury and indulge yourself disgracefully: that’s your idea of hell, is it?”

“Hell is a state of mind, Major. I think I’ve been there since the day I met you. Hell’s nothing to do with fire and brimstone. Hell is emptiness. Yawning, devouring longing for something you can’t have. Seeing your greatest happiness just out of reach, and being told you can never have it. That’s what hell is, Major. ‘This is hell, nor am I out of it.’”

Klaus replied with a scornful snort.

Eroica shrugged. “All right, then: no deal. When you can tell me that you love me, and _mean_ it, then I’ll listen to you. Until then – I do what I want, when I want.”

Much later, back in Bonn, Klaus reflected that trying to talk Eroica into agreeing to serve as a de facto member of his team had been redundant. Before the bottle of whisky had been emptied, danger had come to the door in the form of first a pack of hungry wolves, and then a pack of equally dangerous KGB agents. Eroica had stood shoulder to shoulder with him and fought them off. Klaus would never forget the steely defiance in the thief’s eyes as he held the Russians off with what he’d believed to be an empty gun. He may not have agreed to a partnership of the kind Klaus had proposed – but a partnership was evolving, none the less.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faustus has a conversation with Mephistopheles about the nature of Hell. Mephistopheles, who is himself a fallen angel, says that Hell is a state of mind. The line Dorian quotes, 'This is Hell, nor am I out of it', is borrowed from Mephistopheles.


	4. Act Four

“… The Cold War in Europe can, of course, be seen as the longest military campaign in which NATO has engaged. The Cold War was won through deterrence, and it was through the bravery and dedication of the men and women who served that escalation to armed conflict or nuclear war was prevented. We are here tonight to recognise one of those men: a man whose dedication has been of the highest order, a man whose valour is unquestioned, a man who has, through his own actions and the actions of men serving under him, given exceptional service to NATO and to the nations of the world. Major Klaus von dem Eberbach!”

Deafening applause followed.

Perched on the parapet of the second-floor balcony, listening, Eroica smiled in genuine pleasure. The Major deserved to be recognised for his service. He would value it: duty, service and honour meant everything to him. 

Inside the Grand Ballroom, Klaus moved slowly through the crowd. Everyone wanted to shake his hand and offer congratulations. It took some time for him to cross the room and push through the French doors opening onto the balcony. The cool air was a relief after the stifling atmosphere inside. 

“Major!” Agent A – Captain Wagner – was already on the balcony, along with Agent Z. “Congratulations, Major. It’s about time your service was recognised.”

“Thank you, Wagner.”

“Cigarette, sir?” Agent Z held a pack out to him. 

“Thank you, Z.” 

“Now that the Soviet Union is dissolved, do you think they’ll make any changes to the Intelligence units?” Z asked as Wagner offered Klaus his lighter.

Klaus drew deeply on his cigarette. “Not immediately. The change-over is going to shake out a lot of dissident movements, and old attitudes die hard. We’ll have plenty to deal with.”

Wagner said, “I heard a rumour, sir. There are people saying you’re going to be serving on an advisory panel for German Reunification. Any truth in the rumour?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that, Wagner,” Klaus said with a wry smile, “and I’d suggest you don’t spread the rumour any further.”

Wagner and Z exchanged knowing glances.

“I’d also suggest betting on something like this is highly irregular.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir.”

They smoked together in silence, leaning on the balcony rail. Klaus lit a second cigarette; Wagner and Z excused themselves and moved back inside. Klaus felt relieved to be alone for a while. He disliked being the focus of attention. 

“Good evening, Major.” The familiar voice came from the darkest corner of the balcony.

“Eroica. I might have known you’d show up.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, Major. I’m glad your superior officers have finally given you some recognition.”

The thief drifted out of the shadows. He was dressed for the occasion, elegant in white tie, even though he was uninvited and had no intention of going inside. 

“So is your life going to change, now that the Cold War is over?”

Klaus snorted. “Doubt it. I’ll still be in the field. There’ll still be trouble to deal with. The pieces have shifted on the chessboard, that’s all.”

“So, you’ll still need me to keep an eye on you?” Eroica twinkled mischievously.

“Get in my way, you mean.” Klaus crushed out his cigarette. “I have to go back in. They’ll send a search party if I don’t.” He hesitated. “Eroica— thank you.”

As he watched the Major disappear back into the crush inside, Eroica felt elated. That simple ‘Thank you’ conveyed so much more.

At the end of the night, the men who had attended the ceremony poured out onto the pavement. Klaus paused a few moments at the top of the steps to speak with some of the Alphabets. Eroica watched once more from the shadows as the Major made his way down toward the waiting line of taxis. 

Nobody but Eroica saw the dark-clad figure in the gloom on the other side of the street, or the glint of light on the gun barrel.

“Major! Get down!” Eroica shoved his way through the crowd, running toward the shadowy figure. 

Klaus reacted as soon as he heard Eroica’s voice. Gunshots rang out. The crowd exploded into confusion. The gunman, realising he had missed his target, turned to run and was struck in the shoulder by a knife thrown from somewhere in the street.

Klaus and Eroica reached the felled assassin at the same time. The man crouched on the pavement, blood welling out of his shoulder. When he felt the muzzle of Klaus’s gun pressed against his skull, he stilled, and dropped his weapon.

Klaus pulled the balaclava off the man’s head. “Who are you?”

“Nobody you have met before.” The man was young – perhaps twenty-five or thirty. His accent was Russian. “I came to join your celebration, Iron Klaus. To bring you special greetings from Comrade Bear Cub and Comrade Polar Bear. Our governments may have changed their song, but those of us on the front line do not forget our enemies.”

Eroica and Klaus watched as the would-be assassin was taken away.

“Really, Major – you carry your gun with you even in full dress uniform?” Eroica brushed himself down and straightened his tie.

“Of course. I’m never unprepared. The world has changed, but it hasn’t changed that much.” Klaus’s gun disappeared back into its concealed holster. “I may ask you the same. Concealed knives, with formal attire? Is this an English custom?”

“It’s _my_ custom. I don’t like to be caught unawares.”

Wagner appeared, hovering. “Sir? Shall I organise an escort for you, in case there’s more than one involved?”

“No need,” Klaus said. “Just call another taxi, Wagner – for Eroica and myself.”

 

Half an hour later, the taxi drew up outside Klaus’s apartment.

“Don’t get your hopes up, thief. You’re sleeping on the sofa.”

“What a pity, Major. I had hoped that you might relent – show me a little love and appreciation.” 

Klaus filled two glasses with whisky, and handed one to Eroica.

“I’m not one for speeches, Eroica. You know that. But— if you hadn’t been there tonight, I’d be dead. I didn’t see that scumbag lurking in the shadows; nor did anybody else. We weren’t being vigilant, and in this game you can’t afford that. I’ve seen men pay with their lives because they’ve failed to be vigilant. I almost paid that price tonight.” Klaus raised his glass. “Eroica, I owe my life to you.”

They drank. 

“In fact,” Klaus continued, his voice quieter, “you’ve saved my life so many times, sometimes I think my life belongs to you in some way – that my life can’t be taken by anyone else because it’s not mine any more, it’s yours.”

Eroica frowned. “This doesn’t sound like Iron Klaus speaking.”

“No, it doesn’t. But I do owe you my life. There’s no doubt about that.” Klaus swallowed his whisky and poured another, then topped up Eroica’s glass. “It’s as if, when you’re there, I can’t be killed. You’re my good luck charm.”

“Well,” Eroica purred, “that sounds better than a lot of the things you’ve called me. If you really belong to me, then perhaps you should invite me to share your bed.”

“Not a chance, pervert,” Klaus said, sounding almost affectionate. He stood up, towering over the thief. “Haven’t you got the message, after all these years? I’m not interested. Not now, not ever.” He opened a cupboard, pulled out a blanket and tossed it to Eroica. “The sofa’s yours. My door will be locked. Good night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Faustus' fame spread, and he became quite a celebrity. At one stage, the Emperor commends him for his interventions in international politics. Then, a group of men try to kill Faustus, cutting off his head - but Faustus rises with his head restored. He tells the assassins they are fools, because his life belongs to Mephistopheles and cannot be taken by anyone else.


	5. Act Five

**Scene One**

 

“Eroica, I need your help.”

As soon as he knew the mission involved an art museum, Klaus phoned Eroica. There had been a time when he would have cut off his right hand before he asked Eroica for help, but that time was long gone. He knew now he could rely on the thief, and he didn’t hesitate to involve him in his missions from the start. The days of finding the right bait to entice Eroica to join him were long gone. 

The mission looked straightforward. An operative had returned from Afghanistan with a microchip containing information about Western sources of funding for Al Qaeda. His escape hadn’t been clean, and he hadn’t been able to evade his pursuers. He’d managed to hide the microchip and move on before they’d caught up with him, but the operative was dead.

“We know the microchip is in Hamburg. We believe it’s hidden somewhere in the Kunsthalle: that was his location when he abandoned his tracking device. Do you know the Hamburg Kunsthalle?”

“Like the back of my hand, Major. I’ve visited it many times, and not always during opening hours.”

“The operative’s last message was indistinct, but there was something we think is a clue to the chip’s location.”

“Ooh, I love puzzles,” cooed Eroica. 

“Don’t be frivolous!” Klaus snapped. “A man is dead, and if this information falls into the wrong hands we’ll miss an opportunity to curtail enemy operations. I’ll meet you in Hamburg. Get there as soon as you can.”

Early the next morning, Eroica travelled to Hamburg to meet Klaus. Together, they listened to the dead operative’s last message. Through an overlay of crackling interference, they could make out the words: _“Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips.”_

“Helen of Troy!” Eroica exclaimed.

“How do you come to that conclusion?”

“It’s a quotation. The words are from _Doctor Faustus_ – words Faustus says to Helen when he claims her for his paramour. Rossetti’s painting of Helen of Troy hangs in the Kunsthalle. We should start there.”

 

In the silent darkness, Eroica and Klaus made their way through the empty galleries, the temporarily deactivated security system blind to their progress. Eroica located the painting quickly: a woman with ripe red lips, golden hair and golden clothing – and framed in a grooved gilt frame. Klaus was surprised to see how small it was. Eroica had it off the wall and wrapped in cloth within minutes; they made their way back out of the gallery, and headed for a NATO safe-house in the city. 

Locked away in the relative security of the safe-house, the two unwrapped their prize. Klaus immediately began running his fingertips across the heavily grooved gilt frame, feeling for breaks in the surface that might indicate where the microchip had been planted. 

Eroica’s gaze was on the painting itself. “ _’Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships,’_ ” he murmured, “ _’And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? O, thou art fairer than the evening air, Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars.’_ ”

“What?” Klaus looked up from his examination of the frame. “Face that launched a thousand ships? Sank them, more like it.” He took out a pocket knife and began scraping at a section of gilt.

“Come on, Major. Helen of Troy is supposed to have been the most beautiful woman of her time. She was the daughter of Zeus, you know.” Eroica smiled playfully. “Paris couldn’t resist her.”

“Paris was a bloody fool.”

“He wasn’t a fool – he was a courageous romantic! He risked everything for Helen because he was in love with her.”

“He was a self-indulgent brat who ran off with a woman married to a king, knowing it would create an international incident and not caring about the damage it would do to his own countrymen. Completely irresponsible.”

Eroica’s expression suggested amused pity. “Really, Major, you don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you? It’s one of the great stories of love!”

“It’s one of the great stories of waste, if you ask me: a waste of lives, and a waste of resources. And all because a weak young fool wanted a good-looking bint who wasn’t worth the fuss.”

Eroica sat back on his heels and regarded Klaus intently. “You know, Major, in all the years we’ve known each other, I’ve never heard you speak about love other than in disparaging terms.”

The Major met his gaze with narrowed eyes. “Love is a waste of time.”

“How can you say that? If you’d ever been in love, you’d know it’s anything _but_ a waste of time. Love is a great restorative to the soul.” Eroica smiled, a little wistfully. “You should try it, Major. Let go some of that iron discipline and let yourself feel a little affection for someone. Preferably, for me. You know I’ve been in love with you for years, Major.”

“So you keep telling me. Love is an illusion. Letting yourself moon over someone else is nothing but a distraction. I can’t afford distractions.” Klaus glared at Eroica. “Come on, we haven’t got all night. Get on with it.”

“As the Actress said to the Bishop,” Eroica smirked mischievously, taking out his pocket knife. “Major, you have no idea how I long to hear those words in a different context.”

They lapsed into silence, both probing and scraping at the ornate frame, until at last, Klaus’s blade revealed a minute metal container embedded in the plaster moulding. Quickly, he dug it out and examined it. 

“This is it. Right, let’s get moving.”

Eroica picked up the length of cloth to rewrap the painting. “Time for one last look, Major.”

Klaus looked. Art mystified him. He couldn’t see why Eroica was so enthralled by this picture – or any picture. “I can’t see that _that_ face would have launched a thousand ships. And she has ridiculous hair, like yours. Are you sure the model wasn’t your grandmother?”

“Quite sure, Major. Her name was Annie Miller. I can assure you, she had no connection with my family.” He rewrapped the painting, ready to be collected the following day by a NATO agent and dropped anonymously at a nearby police station.

 

**Scene Two**

 

The streets were clear when they left the safe house, and travelled by a convoluted route to a small hotel on the outskirts of Hamburg. Klaus would have preferred to leave the city altogether, but orders were orders. He and Eroica booked in and were given rooms on the top floor. 

Once – years ago – Eroica would have spent the time it took to ascend in the slow, creaking lift making suggestive remarks and fluttering his eyelashes. His behaviour in those early years had been outrageous: flamboyant, lascivious, insolent – Klaus marvelled that he’d put up with it. Nowadays, the thief didn’t bother. They travelled up to the top floor in comradely silence. 

How many years had this unlikely collaboration been going on? Klaus counted back. He’d met the thief more than twenty-five years ago. He had agents in his unit who weren’t even born then. They’d got off to a bad start, it was true, but over time they’d forged a strong working relationship. Not without discord – Eroica was an independent sod – but the thief had been his secret weapon for most of his career. Klaus couldn’t have achieved what he had without him. Would he have done it differently, if he’d known then what he knew now? Perhaps he wouldn’t have tried so hard to get the thief to do things on his terms. In the end, it hadn’t mattered – Eroica always did what was needed, even though he steadfastly refused to defer to Klaus’s authority.

Just as Eroica’s conduct had mellowed, so had Klaus’s own ambition. He still put the mission first; he still pursued his goals with ruthless determination – but he’d lost the desperate hunger for achievement.

_I must be getting old._

“Good night, Major.” Eroica turned the key in his own lock. “Sleep sound.”

“Eroica—!” 

The thief paused, his hand on the door-latch.

“It’s not late. Come in for a drink.”

Eroica smiled. “All right, then.”

There was nowhere to sit in the small, plain bedroom except on the bed itself. Eroica, supple as a man half his age, sat cross-legged on the dipping mattress. Klaus rummaged in his bag and pulled out a half-bottle of whisky.

“No glasses. Sorry.” He handed the bottle to Eroica. “You first.”

Eroica smiled, broke the seal on the cap, and took a swallow. “Do you remember doing this in Alaska, all those years ago? This whisky’s better than the fire-water we found in that cabin.” He handed the bottle back to Klaus.

“It’s more comfortable here than it was in that bloody cabin, too.” 

“Marginally.”

Klaus settled back, his legs outstretched, his back against the high wooden bed-head. He watched Eroica raise the bottle to his lips, tip his head back, and swallow. The mass of gold curls was as luxuriant as it had been when they’d met more than a quarter-century before; Eroica’s features were perhaps sharper, leaner – but still handsome. He’d spent all those years following Klaus into hazardous situations, risking his life and freedom; what did he get out of it? Surely, he could have had a better life if he’d chosen differently?

“Why do you do this?” Klaus blurted out.

Eroica looked startled. “Do what, Major?”

“What you’ve done for the last twenty-odd years. Follow me into deadly dangerous situations, break into places, steal things – risk your life.”

The thief blinked. “For love, Major. I do it because I love you. You know that.”

“But I’ve never given you any reason to love me. I’ve never returned your love in any way.” Klaus shook his head. “There has to be another reason. ‘Love’ can’t be reason enough to do the things you do.”

“It is, Major,” Eroica said softly, his eyes tender. 

Klaus shook his head again, and mumbled, “I’m damned if I understand that.” He swallowed down a burning mouthful of whisky. 

“Why do _you_ do it?” Eroica asked.

Klaus paused, reflecting. 

“I don’t think I know how to do anything else: how to _be_ anything else. When I started in Intelligence, I was ambitious. I wanted to be the best. Not because I wanted praise and adulation; because I had to be the best to achieve what needed to be done. My country was on the border between East and West. The Communist threat was real. I wanted to be instrumental in securing Germany’s safety – the world’s safety. I wanted to do what was right.” He drank another mouthful. “It became ingrained. I couldn’t have given it away if I wanted to. I needed to shape myself into a weapon; and I needed to surround myself with the things and people that would help me to be effective. That’s why I needed you.”

“You know, I could resent the fact that you’ve just been using me, when I did it for love,” Eroica said, half-smiling. He held the bottle out to Klaus, who waved it away. Eroica took another sip, and placed it on the bedside cupboard. 

“When the Soviet Union dissolved,” Klaus went on, “the threats didn’t go away: they just changed. In a way, it was simpler in the old days. Cleaner. You knew who the enemy was, and where they were going to come from, and what was in their heads. These days, it’s not nations any more, it’s factions, coalitions – ideology without borders. Fanaticism. Distrust and hatred.” He looked at Eroica, perplexed. “And still you follow me into the maelstrom.”

Eroica smiled ruefully. “Perhaps it’s become ingrained with me, too. It’s become more than what I do: it’s who I am.”

Klaus said, “What’s the date today?”

“The seventeenth, why?”

“Twenty-four years ago today, I had a dream.”

“What? How can you remember what you dreamt twenty-four years ago?”

Klaus continued as if he hadn’t heard the question. “It was after a mission in Iran. You remember, you were there. We broke into Pahlavi’s palace. You wanted the jewellery; I needed to find a microfilm hidden in an ornamental dagger. After I got back to Bonn, I went out with two old friends to celebrate and I ended up very drunk. It was the night I got the tattoo – that’s how drunk I was. After I got home, I had a dream.”

There was an edge of apprehension – an edge of fear – in the Major’s voice. He paused. Eroica didn’t interrupt. 

“I can still remember it clearly. It was one of those dreams that seemed, somehow, more real than waking. I dreamed—” He hesitated. “I dreamed I sold my soul to the Devil, in return for being able to become the most effective agent of my time.” His eyes bored into Eroica’s. “You were there, in the dream. You were his messenger – you were the one who closed the deal. You said you’d always be there to do what I needed you to do. And you said – you said the Devil would come to claim his price in twenty-four years. That’s tonight.”

Eroica stared at him, unable to find words. The Major lived by practicality, logic and reason: he always dismissed anything that smacked of the supernatural. It wasn’t like him to be unsettled by memories of dreams.

“Major, it was a dream. Surely you don’t give any credence to it?”

Klaus gave a grim half-smile. “It makes no sense, does it? But somehow, I can’t get it out of my head. Haven’t been able to get it out of my head for twenty-four years. I’ve had more than my fair share of luck; I’ve survived situations I shouldn’t have; I’ve been successful where most men would have failed. And I’ve always had you to help me. Perhaps I did bargain away my soul.”

“Come on, Major,” Eroica said sharply, “you don’t believe that.” 

Klaus didn’t reply. He picked up the whisky bottle and took another swallow. 

Eroica felt unsettled by this glimpse into a long-held disquiet that seemed so out of character – and he didn’t feel inclined to let the Major spend the night alone, brooding on an irrational fear. 

“I’m done in,” he announced, yawning. “If I go back to my room I’ll wake up again. Do you mind if I just stretch out and sleep here?” All fluid grace, he lay down on the bed.

Klaus took another swig of whisky. “Whatever you like. I don’t care, as long as you keep to your side of the bed.”

“If you insist.” Eroica closed his eyes.

“Humph.” Klaus placed the bottle back on the cabinet, snapped out the light, and lay down with his back to the thief.

 

Klaus woke, unsure how long he’d been asleep. Eroica lay beside him, breathing deeply and evenly. Somewhere out in the streets, a clock began striking the hour. He counted. Twelve strokes: it was midnight. 

He held his breath, listening – but all was still. Nothing stirred in the room except his own breathing, and Eroica’s. 

And then – the door burst open, and the room erupted into tumult and confusion. Masked armed men poured through the doorway, yelling threats and commands. One of them seized Eroica by the arm and hauled him from the bed; Klaus didn’t see what they did with him. Gun-barrels were thrust into his face. Harsh voices barked at him to get up. Their tones were panicked, frenzied. By professional habit, he registered at least four different accents among the voices. Klaus’s last thought was, _Where’s Eroica?_ The gunfire started, then the pain. Then, nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Near the end of his life, Faustus asks Mephistopheles to give him Helen of Troy to be his lover.  
> Dante Gabriel Rossetti’s painting of Helen of Troy can be seen at http://www.rossettiarchive.org/docs/s163.rap.html  
> The model for the picture was called Annie Miller. The painting was bequeathed in 1921 to the Kunsthalle, Hamburg.  
> The words Eroica quotes are from Marlowe's play.
> 
>  Twenty-four years after he made his bargain, the Devil claims Faustus' soul. Demons appear and drag him off to Hell.  
> 


	6. Epilogue - Chorus

It feels strange, signing off on the papers closing Major von dem Eberbach’s file.

When he took over the Alphabet Unit, I’d only been there a few months myself. Captain Wagner. I was the most senior agent, and I took my seniority very seriously. I was young, newly married, and keen to make a success of my career.

He was a good commander. Hard, demanding – but he brought the best out in us all. I think we all became better agents – better men – for serving under him. 

I stayed with the Alphabet unit for a long time. Nearly fifteen years. Then, I took the promotion the Chief was urging me to take, and I moved up to new responsibilities. Agent G was promoted into my place, and then after he moved on to Special Projects, Agent Z took over. He was the senior agent for the last five years of Major von dem Eberbach’s command. 

The Major brought stability to the unit, and that helped us to build up an impressive core of skills and knowledge. I know the Major wasn’t popular with the senior ranks – he didn’t show the deference they expected, and he was impatient with regulations and procedure. All the same, they respected him. His track record – the track record of his unit – was second to none. 

Why he stayed at the rank of Major all those years puzzled everybody. The gossip around the water-cooler was that he’d been denied promotion because of his attitude, but I’m sure that wasn’t the real story. He was the best field agent the Bonn office has ever had. The smart money says that the top brass struck a deal with him to stay at the rank of Major and keep working in the field, where he was most effective. There were suggestions he was being paid at a much higher salary level, and being given massive bonuses, but I don’t know if any of that is true.

I saw the photographs from the scene of his murder. They weren’t pretty.

He was killed in a hotel room. There must have been a huge disturbance. Forensic evidence suggests there were at least five assailants. By the time anybody else dared to approach the room, the killers were long gone, and the Major was dead. He would have been killed instantly. He had multiple bullet wounds, and there was some damage inflicted post-mortem. His gun – the old magnum he always carried, like a talisman – was destroyed, the pieces left behind with the body.

The assailants weren’t after the microchip he’d recovered. It was still in his pocket, where they would have found it if they’d been looking.

Some witnesses said they’d seen Eroica with him earlier in the evening. He must have left before the attack. We have Eroica’s biological records on file, and none of the blood or DNA traces at the scene indicated he’d been there. 

That’s something to be thankful for – seeing the Major killed like that would have been traumatic. They were close. Exactly what their relationship was, I couldn’t say with any certainty. There were rumours, of course, that they were lovers – and they might have been, but what the truth was, I just don’t know. I’d say, though, that the Major trusted Eroica more than he trusted any other human being. They were an impressive team. 

We tried to trace Eroica after the murder. His evidence would have been valuable. Besides, he’d been the Major’s unofficial right-hand man for years. Getting in touch with him was the decent thing to do.

We couldn’t find him. Not a trace, anywhere.

I got Z to send one of the Alphabets to England, to Castle Gloria, to see what had happened. He reported that the place was empty. No people, no furniture and fittings. You’d think a Peer of the Realm could be traced, wouldn’t you? We couldn’t find any information about where Eroica and his men had gone.

In the aftermath, at least three terrorist groups claimed responsibility for the murder. Investigations were carried out, but from what I read in the reports, I’d say none of them did it. Who did, remains a mystery.

Had he stayed in the field too long? Had he bent the rules once too often? Had he made too many enemies? Had he come to rely too much on Eroica? None of these questions can really be answered. All I know is, Klaus von dem Eberbach had my respect and the respect of all the men who served under him. He had skill, and dedication, and courage. 

And luck.

I guess his luck just ran out.


End file.
